


Hoaloha

by aries_taurus



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Coda, Episode Tag, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-02
Updated: 2013-06-02
Packaged: 2017-12-13 18:52:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/827654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aries_taurus/pseuds/aries_taurus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>3.20 tag, Danny POV.</p><p>He knows something happened in those missing 24 hours, hasn’t gotten all the details yet, but Catherine refused to give him any, telling him it’s Steve’s story to tell if he so chooses. She does tell him to take care of him though, before she leaves the cemetery. So he waits.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hoaloha

**Author's Note:**

> This took me a while to finish and my nameless beta said maybe I shouldn't make Steve drink so often and so much in fic but I do love me "In Vino Veritas" kinda things so.... Not.
> 
> Thanks for reading and I promise I'll be good about reviews as RL was MEAN to me in the past month, again (read 2 weeks hospital and my dad having a heart attack) so I haven't had time to respond.
> 
>  
> 
> Thanks.
> 
> Oh! Title means friend.

The funeral’s over and Danny watches as the family and friends slowly file away from the gravesite, his attention on Steve.

His partner looks wrecked, both physically and emotionally. He knows that for once, Steve isn’t the one most badly injured; Catherine is, with a couple broken ribs. Still, she’s not the one who’s brother-in-arms’ funeral has been three years coming. He knows there’s more to the story than that, knows Steve and Freddie Hart were close, like true brothers and he knows how much Steve’s hurting.

He knows something happened in those missing 24 hours, hasn’t gotten all the details yet, but Catherine refused to give him any, telling him it’s Steve’s story to tell if he so chooses. She does tell him to take care of him though, before she leaves the cemetery. So he waits.

He still stands in silence, waiting, fifteen minutes later when the last car pulls off. Steve is still by the grave, unmoving, like he’s carved out of stone.

Danny watches as Steve’s left hand goes to his chest and pulls off the SEAL Trident pinned there. He lowers it to the casket and before Danny can wonder what he’s doing, he raises his gloved fist in the air and pounds the insignia into the polished wood.

The sudden sound flushes the birds in the nearby tree but Steve stays still in the silence and solitude, Danny’s heart aching for him a little more with each passing moment.

He remembers Steve’s face when he got the call, remembers the look in his eyes when he dropped him off at Hickam, remembers taking him home when he and Cath got back, the grief in his eyes so thick it hurt just to see.

Danny can’t stand it anymore. He walks over to the grave and stands beside his friend, silent for a beat.

“C’mon. I’m taking you home.”

Steve doesn’t say a word, just nods.

Danny drives, not breaking the silence in the car because contrary to popular belief, he does know when to shut up and this is one of those admittedly very rare times.

Steve’s out of the car before Danny’s even put it into park, cover on his head to walk the fifteen feet to his front door. It’s odd for him to see military Steve; he’s too used to Cargo-pants-and-generic-sports-shirt-over-v-neck-tee-slouches-every-chance-he-gets Steve.

He doesn’t know if the careful way Steve places the white cap and gloves on the table by the door and the neat way he hangs his jacket and tie on a chair is out of respect to the uniform or because familiarity and routine are the only things keeping Steve together right now.

Danny lets him go up the stairs for a bit, change he guesses, as he sheds his own jacket and tie, rolling up his sleeves.

He takes the brand new bottle of Wild Turkey in Steve’s liquor cabinet and scrounges two glasses from the kitchen and goes out on the beach, sitting in one of those two chairs, the same ones he shared that very first beer with Steve in. He pours two solid fingers of whiskey in each glass and sets the bottle in the sand and waits.

Steve joins him as the sun begins to turn red and head for the ocean. He wordlessly takes the glass Danny offers and stares at it for a beat.

“To lost friends,” Danny offers solemnly, rising his own.

Steve nods but doesn’t speak. He puts the glass to his lips and tosses his head back, swallowing the whole thing without a wince. Danny is content to wet his lips and refill Steve’s glass.

It takes a few more drinks and for night to fall for Steve to finally speak. The story unfolds, past and present mixing together, painting a picture Danny’s not sure he wanted to ever see.

He knows Steve is telling him everything, the whole, un-redacted, probably classified story, possibly because he knows Danny won’t ever breathe a word of this to anyone.

Steve maybe cries through it a couple times but he breaks down when he tells Danny about finding his friend’s body desecrated, mutilated, arms and legs shattered, skull bashed in…

Danny can only shake his head and grab the back of Steve’s neck, squeezing it and rubbing his thumb at the base of his skull until he speaks again, telling him the rest of the story and Danny’s glad the bastard who ordered it is dead because he thinks he’d hop on a plane and go kill him himself if he could.

Once Steve’s done, the bottle is nearly empty and Danny has yet to see the bottom of his glass. Steve passed drunk hours ago and he’s on a fast lane to passed out so Danny shoves to his feet and hauls Steve up with him, dragging him towards the house. He guides him inside, up the stairs and puts him to bed after making him swallow a couple glasses of water and a couple ibuprofen. It probably won’t make the morning much better but this is something he _can_ do.

He climbs down the steps slowly, mind heavy, fully awake despite the late hour.

Steve’s his brother and he’d do anything for him and seeing him hurt like this… Losing so much in so little time... It makes him understand better; the way Steve acted when they first met, the anger, the carelessness, the almost insane drive… He’d lost his best friend, possibly for nothing when Anton Hesse got killed and his father too, the whole thing sending his life into a tailspin that was still ongoing as far as Danny could tell, the threads not yet all unraveled or even discovered in that story yet, he thinks.

He sits on the couch, leans back and rubs his face. It’s almost two in the morning. He needs sleep. Morning and the weight of days will come fast enough.

\--

He wakes with a start, the scent of coffee flooding his nose.

He gets himself off the couch, runs a hand over his face and through his hair and shrugs his shoulders to get his rumpled shirt in some semblance of presentable before walking into the kitchen.

“You should be dying of a hangover, not making coffee,” he grumbles at Steve, who’s standing over the sink, mug of steaming coffee in hand.

“I’m dying, believe me,” Steve rasps, sounding like he’s in a world of hurt. “But coffee helps,” he adds, lifting a cup towards Danny.

“Friends too,” he says softly as Danny accepts the mug. “Thanks for last night.”

Danny wants to crack a joke, to be sarcastic and say things like; for what? Getting you drunk or putting you to bed like my ten-year-old?

He doesn’t. “I’d say any time but you’ve had way too much grief in the years I’ve know you,” he says instead.

“You’re my brother, Danny, and I love you and your daughter, I’d do anything for you. You know that, right?”

“I do. And right back a ya, babe,” Danny  says. Steve rarely voices the things he feels so clearly. His actions always speak louder.

“You roll with it. The losses, I mean. I’m military. A SEAL. It comes with it. You expect it. It hurts, sure but it’s just another part of it you learn to life with. But… I had to Kill Anton and then my dad and it just… keeps unraveling.” He’s silent for a bit. “I don’t know why but… It’s different now,” he says quietly but Danny can hear the catch in his voice.

“In war, when a solider falls, there’s always another one to take his place. He may not be the same guy but he’s got the same purpose, the same way of life. You know each day can be the last.  Out here, in the rest of the world, everyone’s unique, each their own. You get more attached. Makes it hurt more.”

Steve turns away from the window to stare at Danny, something between surprise and awe in his eyes. “When did you get so smart?”

“Always have been. You just don’t listen to me enough.”

At that, Steve smiles and huffs out a laugh. “Right. C’mon. I owe you breakfast.”

“I’m driving. Your brain’s still poaching in whisky. You got your wallet, right?”

“Yeah I got my wallet. I can drive, Danny. Give me the keys.”

Danny stops and lifts a finger, shaking it. “I disagree. You’re still on Korean time. We’d end up at a bar.”

“No. God no,” Steve groans, pressing a hand over his forehead.

“Can’t handle your liquor, sailor boy?”

“I can handle it fine. You and Karaoke? That, I can’t handle.”

 

Fin


End file.
